20

SUMMER

Because.

The word hangs between us as my mind goes blank.

Logan blurted out a marriage proposal without even thinking. Of course I can’t hold him to it. But he’s still watching me, and despite the intensity of our connection, there’s no way I can marry him.

But why not?

I’m falling in love with him. And with his big meddling family. Isn’t this everything I’ve ever wanted?

Of course it is. Say yes, my brain pleads.

“I just can’t,” I say after a long beat of silence.

“Okay,” he says softly and releases my hands.

The shuttle driver steps out of the minivan and comes around to help with my bags, seemingly oblivious to the enormity of the moment he’s interrupting.

Ignoring him, Logan pulls me close for one last hug, causing a sharp ache to pierce my chest.

“Good-bye, Summer,” he whispers against my hair.

“Good-bye, Logan.”

• • •

I held myself together for the entire shuttle ride, all the way through airport security and for ninety percent of the flight from Durango to Denver. But there’s something about this second flight, the one from Denver back to Boston, that feels different. More final.

As I buckle my seat belt in my lap and pull it tight, the last of the mountain air deflates from my lungs. This is it. I’m going home. And to be totally honest, I’m feeling about a hundred different ways about it.

For one, I’m proud. At least a little, I think. After all, I did what I set out to do—I helped Logan. Maybe it didn’t happen how I expected, but the man I left back at the cabin is so different from the one I met when I arrived in Lost Haven.

He’s calmer now, more in touch with his feelings and how to deal with them in a healthy way. Mission accomplished, as far as counseling goes, which means it’s time to head home. Back to Boston and back to my normal life, where I don’t have to sit through violent dinner table arguments or psychoanalyze an entire family of brothers with broken pasts.

Things will be easier back home. Just me, my studio apartment, and my work. The way it’s always been.

And that’s where pride ends and depression sets in. Because maybe the way it’s always been isn’t what I want anymore.

My throat prickles, but I wrestle the tears down as best I can. I’ve made it this far without crying in public. Maybe I can make it home before I fully break down.

Swallowing hard, I focus on the flight attendant’s demonstration. She buckles and unbuckles a seat belt, pivoting so that everyone onboard can see, but hardly anyone is paying much attention.